


The King's Trust

by andraste_oz (vanessarama)



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: M/M, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-07
Updated: 2010-07-07
Packaged: 2017-10-10 10:43:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/98880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanessarama/pseuds/andraste_oz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written in response to this prompt at the Merlin kinkmeme: "AU. Rather than being made Arthur's manservant, Merlin is made Uther's concubine." <br/>Warnings: Dubious consent, veering into non-con in at least one scene. AU, diverging from canon at the end of the first episode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The King's Trust

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me in any incarnation, and I am making no money from them.  
> Author's Note: This is my first piece of fanfiction in several years, so I apologise for any rustiness. Many thanks and much love to vissy, who originally pointed me to the prompt and asked: "Write this one for me" and who then became my partner in crime and general cheer team while this fic took on a mind of its own. And thank you, feedbackers at the kinkmeme, for giving me the inspiration to keep going. I'd forgotten how much fun this can be.

"This calls for something quite special." The king is smiling benevolently down on him.

"You shall be awarded a position in the royal household. You shall be my... body servant."

"Father!" The prince looks outraged. Merlin draws his brows together, bemused. Body servant? What might that entail? It sounds intimate. Fetching the king his washing water, he supposes, laying out his clothes, maybe bringing him his dinner? Well, it will probably be a little dull, but then he'll get to see the king's bedroom and probably attend more of these glorious banquets. He'll get to spend time watching all the beautiful ladies of the court and hopefully tasting some of the wonderful food, and perhaps they'll give him some nicer clothes to wear.

Merlin looks across to Gaius for guidance, grinning broadly and hoping for a reassuring smile in return; but his smile folds as he sees the look on Gaius' face. He looks... grim.

The prince is whispering furiously in the king's ear, his face set in a scowl. The rest of the court is applauding. A few laugh, loudly and unkindly; Merlin wonders at the ugly tone to the laughter, bristling slightly. So they don't think he can do a good job? They'll be proven wrong. Merlin's as worthy of serving a king as any of them, and he'll prove it, to all these finely dressed people and the pratly prince himself.

"Arthur, I have made my decision and there's an end to it. Unless you would prefer I awarded the boy into your service instead?"

_Please no, please no_, thinks Merlin frantically. _I don't want to be anywhere near that idiotic great bully_. From the look on the prince's face, he has the same reaction to being in Merlin's company. He shakes his head, eyes dropping.

"Well then." The King smiles. "All is settled." He beckons Merlin closer, and leans towards him. "What is your name, boy?"

"I'm Merlin." Merlin hopes he sounds calmer and more resolute than he feels.

"Merlin. Get someone to explain your duties to you and show you to my chambers. I will expect you there tonight." The King turns and makes his way up to the dais; Merlin, clearly dismissed, looks after him blankly.

Suddenly Gaius is at his side, putting a warm hand on his shoulder, his face swept with a mixture of emotions that Merlin can't identify and doesn't want to try. He tries for a smile, but it doesn't seem to be working. What's gone wrong? Why isn't Gaius happy for him?

"Merlin." The old eyes are clear and Merlin sees an urgency in them. "We must speak."

Merlin follows him out of the Great Hall. Gaius puts a hand on his shoulder again.

"Merlin, do you know exactly what the position of body servant will require you to do?"

Merlin grins. "Ummm, I don't know. Serve the king in his chambers? Bring his wine and water, make his bed, serve him at feasts?"

"I'm afraid it's rather more complicated than that. Merlin, the king will require you to serve him… in special ways. Ways you might not find pleasant."

Merlin's brow furrows. "Empty his chamber pot?"

"This position… includes many of those things you speak of. But it will also require you to serve the king in bed."

"In bed?"

"Yes, Merlin. The king wishes you to – " But Gaius says no more because the sudden realisation of what he means comes crashing into Merlin's heart like a stone and washes over his face. In bed. He's going to have to service the King in bed. He's going to be the King's… concubine.

The laughter of the courtiers and the irritation of the Prince suddenly takes on new focus. Merlin knows he's gaping and closes his mouth with a snap.

"But… surely he's got beautiful women to do all that?"

Gaius' eyes are old. "The King has not slept with a woman since his wife died, twenty years ago. He will not dishonour her memory by taking another woman to bed, but fulfils his needs in other ways."

"But… Do I have to?"

Gaius' eyes are compassionate. "Merlin, I would not have you forced into anything against your will. If you choose not to take this position, I will go with you to the King and explain that you did not understand what it entailed, and I will ask him to rescind the offer. But you should be aware that if you do so, you would not be permitted to take any other work in Camelot. It would be a grave insult to the King if you were to refuse his offer after accepting it so publicly. His anger is fierce. At the least, he would probably have you spend some time in the dungeons. You may even have to leave Camelot altogether."

Merlin can see something else in Gaius' face, and asks hesitantly, "And you? Would you get into trouble if I refused, Gaius?"

"Don't worry about me. I've been in the King's service for many years. He will not injure me." There's a certain reluctance in Gaius' voice, and Merlin realises that he's holding back, reluctant to tell the entire truth. _I can't let anything happen to Gaius because of me_, he thinks, feeling sick.

Gaius' hand moves and Merlin realises to his horror that he's being stroked soothingly.

"I do not wish to hurry your decision. Perhaps we should go to my rooms and talk it over."

"No, I'll do it," Merlin blurts.

Gaius' hand stills on him. "Are you sure?"

Merlin nods.

Gaius grips his shoulder. "Be assured that I have never known the King to mistreat his body servants. And it will probably not last long. He will decide he no longer needs your services within a few months…"

"When he gets bored with me?" Merlin asks, trying to smile.

"The King's body servant does seem to change frequently. Many of them take up other positions in the castle when their service to him is over. You will have no problems, once it is clear you have the King's trust."

 

***

Merlin is standing awkwardly in the middle of the King's expansive chamber, feeling as if he has too many limbs and not enough to do with them. His hands feel huge, his ears are too hot, and he feels as if his whole body is thrumming with - anticipation? curiosity? apprehension?

It's not fear. Certainly not fear.

The door opens and Merlin jumps, but it is not the King who enters but is a slender man, neatly groomed, bright-eyed and of upright stature.

"You're Merlin? I'm Edsel. His Majesty's manservant. I'm here to talk to you about your duties."

Merlin feels taut as a bowstring. "No, you don't need to, I mean - Gaius - "

"Gaius doesn't know what I do. His Majesty has certain preferences though, and you'll find it easier to make him happy if you know what they are. First, make sure you're careful with your teeth. Stretch your lips over your teeth like this -" Edsel demonstrates - "and be sure to suck hard. He likes that. Hard as you can and swallow it all. You can touch him while he's in here, but never while he's clothed and never while others are present. Tell him if it hurts and he'll go easier. Have you done it before?"

Merlin is trying to think up a response that doesn't involve either answering "no" or lying, when Edsel grins. "First time, eh? Tell him. He'll like it. And he likes to talk, too. Just agree with him, nod and smile, act as if you're interested, and forget all of it as soon as you're out the door. What happens in this chamber stays here and you can get in serious trouble if you talk. All right?"

Merlin swallows. Nods.

"Don't mind me, either. I'll be in and out. If you need anything or have any questions, let me know." Edsel pokes the fire and glances over to the bed. Merlin follows his eyes, trying not to think too much. Edsel steps closer to him.

"Relax, boy, he won't eat you. He's quite gentle really. I should know. I've been where you are now."

"You?" Merlin looks at Edsel. The man must be at least fifteen years older than him, not unattractive but still not what Merlin expects from a concubine. Nothing like Merlin himself, that's certain. Edsel looks so... well put together.

"Me. Long time ago now. Don't look too ruined, do I?" Edsel smiles. "Everything's ready. Wine on the table there, water by the hearth. Join him if he offers. Won't be long now."

And then Edsel is gone, and the room is suddenly far too quiet. Merlin waits for what must be at least an hour, and would be bored if he wasn't so tense. He pokes the fire, polishes the empty wine goblets on his shirt (not that they seem to need polishing) and very definitely does not look at or sit on the bed.

 

***

The King enters with his hand on his belt and Edsel just behind him. "You, pour wine," Uther orders, jerking his head at Merlin, who scurries to obey. Edsel is moving about the King, unfastening and removing his outer clothing with deft touches; Merlin hovers near, uncertain, not wanting to go near and interrupt what is obviously a practiced routine, worried that Edsel might jostle him and he'll spill the wine. When Uther is down to his shirt and breeches, he gestures to Merlin to bring the goblet, but Merlin must wait as Edsel removes the King's gloves; apparently this part requires more deliberation and care than the entire undressing saga, and Merlin wonders at it.

Then Edsel bows his way out the door and Merlin is alone with the King, who takes a draught of his wine before putting the goblet down.

"So. Merlin, wasn't it? Take off your jacket and boots and come here."

Barefoot and standing before the King, Merlin steels himself to hold his head high. Uther's hand slides under his shirt, glides upwards. His thumb trips on a nipple and he rubs it gently, sending surprising tendrils of heat and want to the pit of Merlin's belly. Merlin swallows, realising too late that he's gulped audibly. The King seems to like it, however, and smiles.

"Have you been with a man before, Merlin?"

"No, sire."

"Excellent." The smile is probably meant to be reassuring, but Merlin finds it has the opposite effect. "You need not fear; I will teach you what you need to know. I do not think you will find your service... unpleasant." Another smile. The King's bare hand cups the side of Merlin's face, a thumb stroking over his lip. Merlin shivers and the King's smile widens.

"Good. We will begin."

 

***

 

Merlin lies naked on the King's bed. His face is turned to one side, and one ear squashed and tender beneath his head. His cock is likewise squashed and tender beneath him, all the more sensitive because he's become disconcertingly hard. The King is stroking possesively up his legs, over his buttocks and down his back. He's never been touched like this before, and it's wonderful and disturbing at the same time.

"Your skin is very soft," the King muses. "I haven't seen you in Camelot before. Where did you come from?"

"From Ealdor, my lord. It's over beyond the ridge of Aesctir." Merlin's trying to keep his voice steady, trying not to gasp as the king's fingers drift between his buttocks.

"That's in Cendred's kingdom. What are you doing so far from home? Came to seek your fortune in a greater city than Cendred could offer?"

"My mother sent me." One of the King's fingers is gently teasing over the entrance to Merlin's body, brushing lightly back and forth. Merlin's trying not to squirm, knowing what is about to come but concentrating on responding to the King's questions. "She knows Gaius, the court physician. She sent me to him."

"To Gaius?" The finger presses harder and worms its way inside. Merlin sucks a harsh breath in, against his will. He can hear the smile in the King's voice as the finger pushes deeper. "You're staying in the court physician's quarters, then?"

"Mmm-hmm." Merlin doesn't trust himself to speak.

"And are you happy with Gaius?"

"Y-yes, my lord." Merlin silently curses himself for the tremble in his voice, but it's very difficult to talk - especially about Gaius - with the King's finger up his arse.

"Good. You must tell me if you have any problems there." Another finger inserts itself beside the first, pushing in hard. The stretch is uncomfortable; Merlin tenses, and then bristles as he hears a rich low chuckle.

"Relax." The King's other hand has come into play now, stroking up Merlin's back again. "It's all right. I have something to help here, to get you ready." The fingers are withdrawn and Merlin can suddenly breathe more freely; but then there's the pop of a seal, a slight pause and they're back, this time covered in something viscous and greasy which Merlin can feel leaving smears on his buttocks. He can't prevent a quiver as the fingers press in, both of them together, right inside him and this time they're moving, beginning to swirl round and thrust back and forth. Merlin feels full, dizzy, bewildered. It's too much; his dick is heavy and hard beneath him and he can't help moving, fidgeting a little to rub it against the bed. Then suddenly there's a spark of something inside him that's right on the edge, so that he's not sure whether it's pleasure or pain; rivulets of feeling run up and down all his nerves, and he makes a choked noise. It's gone as quickly as it began and then there's just the stretch and the movement and the King's breathing, suddenly closer and hotter and more intimate than before, making him shiver.

Then the fingers are gone and the King is kneeling up between his legs, pushing them further apart, and there's a nudge and a stretch and something huge pushes into him. There's more oil, he can feel it trickling down over his balls and along the crease of his upper thighs, and then the King groans and shoves hard, again, again, and he's all the way in and his breath is gusting harshly against Merlin's back. There is a long pause. The King shifts Merlin, angling his hips just so, pulling him closer, and then an oily hand grasps his cock and he cries out loudly. The King groans again and begins to move.

And then there is nothing but the slap of flesh on oiled flesh, the grunts of the King and the choked gasps and cries which Merlin is ashamed of making.

***

Merlin's a little surprised and very relieved when the King, still panting, slaps him lightly on the backside and says "Off with you, now."

"Sire?"

"Go home. Go to bed." The King's eyes are closed.

It's an effort for Merlin to drag himself off the bed and begin dressing; all his limbs are suddenly much heavier, as if he's moving through mud. Before putting his clothes on he wipes himself off with a towel lying ready on the table. His clothes are cold and he winces as he pulls his trousers on over his oily skin. At the door he hesitates. Is that all? Surely there should be something else, words spoken, a gesture?

"Should I come tomorrow night?"

"Yes, probably. I'll get Edsel to summon you."

"Good night, my lord."

The King makes an indeterminate noise. Merlin closes the door softly.

The walk back through the corridors is uncomfortable - not just because of the strange ache in the back of his thighs, the greasiness transferring itself to his clothes and the smarting in his backside - but because Merlin's sure everybody he passes knows who he is and what he's been doing. There are few people around at this time of night, just guards and a couple of servants. Nobody stares or snickers, but he feels their knowledge heavy in the pit of his belly and keeps his head down. He turns a corner and almost runs straight into the Prince.

There's a sudden, horribly uncomfortable moment when they both freeze, staring at one another. Merlin wonders if he's going to get more smart comments tossed at him, more ignorance and arrogance for no good reason. _I saved your life, you bastard!_ He raises his chin and glares defiantly at the Prince, his face hot and his ears burning, waiting for the contempt, the disgust.

It doesn't come. The surprised frown on the Prince's face flattens carefully into something more neutral. He nods at Merlin, and then walks briskly around him and strides past, his footsteps echoing.

Merlin resumes his trudge to the physician's chambers. When he reaches them, he walks right past Gaius, who looks up from the book he's nodding over, and makes for the little room which seemed so humble last night and is now all he wants in the world. He lets himself fall heavily onto the bed, face down.

"Merlin?" Gaius steps hesitantly inside the door. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"But - "

"I don't want to talk about it, so don't ask me," Merlin grinds out, his jaw tense and rigid.

There is a pause, and Merlin can feel Gaius' eyes on him, the concern, the sympathy. He can't deal with it, not yet, not just now. When Gaius speaks, though, his voice is carefully neutral and calm.

"I've brought you some hot water." There's the soft clunk of a full bucket. "It's just what's left over; I had to see to an injury tonight, but as it turned out the water was not needed. It would be a shame to waste it."

Merlin's jaw, his neck, are so tight he can barely choke out "Thanks."

"Good night, my boy." The door closes and Merlin is alone, able at last to give way to the hot prickle of tears crowding behind his eyes.

***

The sun is well over the horizon when Merlin awakes. Wriggling limbs and tensing muscles experimentally, he finds that he's sore but not unbearably so. When he makes his way down the steps into the outer chamber he finds Guinevere talking to Gaius. They stop when they hear his footsteps, turning simultaneously; Gwen offers him a timid smile and Gaius says gruffly, "Breakfast's on the table."

The King sends for him again that night, quite early, not long after Merlin and Gaius have finished their evening meal. Edsel puts his head around the doorway, sees Merlin and grins. "The King requires your presence, Merlin. You ready to go now?"

Merlin doesn't look at Gaius as he leaves. He's been on edge all day, barely talking, although Gaius has behaved perfectly normally and not referred to the night before at all. He hasn't wanted to talk about it, anyway. Edsel, however, is cheerful and chatty as he escorts Merlin through the corridors.

"Cheer up, lad. Not so bad, was it? And he's very pleased with you. He's in ever such a good mood. Been a while since I've seen him like this. You keep him this happy all the time, everyone in the castle's going to bless you. Even Prince Arthur. Probably him more than anyone. The King's very hard on him when he's in a mood. Keep him happy as he is now, you'll get no complaints."

The King is waiting in a chair by the fire, turned slightly away from its heat, when Merlin arrives; clad in loose shirt and trousers which are already open. His black gloves are still on as he beckons Merlin over and makes a gesture Merlin interprets, apparently correctly, as "on your knees". He puts his gloved hand on Merlin's black hair and strokes through it gently as Merlin reaches into his open trousers.

***

Over the next few weeks, Merlin learns more than he wanted to know about the King.

He learns that the King's favourite thing is to sit in his chair and have Merlin suck him, slowly, paying a lot of attention to licking and nuzzling at first and then sucking as hard as possible towards the end. He learns that the King has a slight paunch, and is self-conscious about it. He learns what the King's face looks like reddened and distorted with lust.

He learns that the King likes to thread his gloved fingers through Merlin's hair and then to lean down and grip one shoulder, hard, as Merlin sucks him to completion. This happens often, and Merlin doesn't mind; he actually prefers it. Sucking cock is something he'd had some experience with before arriving in Camelot. He has more control over this process than any other, the King is clean, and soon Merlin learns the tiny signals that indicate he's about to thrust up hard into Merlin's mouth, or that he's close to coming, and is able to adjust accordingly.

He learns that the King also likes to lie on his back and have Merlin ride him. When it's been a difficult day Uther's mouth is tight and his brows drawn, and he always keeps his gloves on. On these occasions Merlin must undress before the King and prepare himself, fingers dripping, kneeling awkwardly on the floor so that he doesn't get oil on the bed. He must move quickly, setting a fast pace, bracing himself as he plunges hard onto the King's cock; if he doesn't go fast enough the King rolls him over and slams into him from above, and that's really hard to cope with. The King's had his hand pressed down hard on Merlin's upper back a few times as he thrusts in hard, making it difficult to breathe. On those nights Merlin feels his magic rising, curling around his edges in wisps and tendrils; he fears that he'll inadvertently do something, that the magic will burst out of him if he can't breathe, forcing the King's hand away or even throwing him across the room. Merlin does his best to stay on top, to stop that happening.

The King doesn't especially care about Merlin's pleasure on these nights, although he likes to see Merlin gasp and moan as he moves, likes to see him work away at his own cock with one hand and cry out. Sometimes the King comes before Merlin does, and sends him away hard and aching; by the time he's reached his room his erection is gone, but he feels frustrated and too wrung out to have a go on his own.

Those are the worst nights, but there are others.

***

Sometimes the King is waiting on the bed, and his hands are bare. On those nights he likes to pull Merlin onto the bed and fondle him, nosing behind his ears and running his hands through his hair. Merlin might find himself lying on his front as the King smooths his hands down his back, pressing kisses to the dip at the base of his spine, gently biting his buttocks and tongueing at the damp spots behind his knees, before dipping his fingers in the oil and opening him unhurriedly. Other nights he'll push Merlin onto his back and spend a lot of time just touching him, sucking at his neck and playing with his nipples. This King Uther is fond of lowering himself gently on top of Merlin, holding him down by his forearms, kissing him passionately while gently pushing with his hips until Merlin's hard and gasping. He likes to cover his hands in oil and jerk Merlin off, slowly, watching him. Merlin turns his face to the side, moaning, letting his eyelids flicker before falling shut; imitating a passion greater than he feels. He keeps his eyes closed.

Sometimes on these nights the King pulls Merlin on top; Merlin understands that this means the King wants him to take the lead and he's beginning to learn what he can do. He presses as much as possible of his naked skin to the King's body, kisses him, nuzzles his way down over his chest and plump belly to his cock. On these nights, he's expected to show some eagerness and passion, and he's drawing on everything he's ever dreamed or thought or wondered about because he very much wants the King to be happy and relaxed. On these nights he feels strangely content. When he's discovered a particular trick that makes the King groan or gasp or even laugh with delight and pleasure, a strange bright power courses through him which is nothing to do with magic.

Sometimes on these nights, the King holds him close and pulls the covers over both of them, pressing drowsy kisses against Merlin's skin. Merlin's usually uncomfortable at first - the King's limbs are heavy where they lie across him - but once the King's asleep he can wriggle gradually out of his hold and fall asleep quietly on the other side of the bed, wrapped in softer and warmer comfort than he's ever experienced before.

***

Most of all, Merlin learns that on the good nights the King likes to talk, and that the King has a lot to talk about. There are lords who seek his favour and balance to be kept between them. Taxes must be planned, discussed and collected; raiders must be spurned, war tactics developed and borders protected; knights must be sought and pressed into service; there are endless diplomatic advances to be made and meetings with the King's advisors. Merlin has never really thought about the life a King must lead and decides that he wouldn't really like it himself.

Most of what King Uther tells him goes in one ear and out the other, but there are exceptions to this. One is when the King talks about his ward, the Lady Morgana, and about his son. As time goes on, he begins to talk about them more and more. Merlin learns that the Lady Morgana is defiant, that she understands too much and not enough about power and people, and that the King loves her and is frustrated by her in equal amounts. He learns that Prince Arthur is the perfect knight but that the King is desperately afraid that his bright and shining son will not have the hardness he needs to rule. He learns that the King fears this even more than he fears magic.

When the King talks about the executions of magic users or about his efforts to discover and expose them, Merlin wills himself not to tense or show reaction. If he does shiver inadvertently the King mistakes it for another kind of fear, and smiles unctuously. He reassures Merlin that magic is nearly routed, that Camelot is the best-guarded city in the land, and that all who practice magic are ultimately too weak and corrupt to stand against Uther Pendragon, defender of his people against evil. Merlin finds that a grateful murmur is the best response to this, followed by reaching for the King's cock with wide-eyed artlessness. This is taken as a natural mark of Merlin's admiration and gratitude.

He finds, disconcertingly, that he's beginning to take a strange pride in his work.

***

To Merlin's disappointment, the dreamed-of privileges of being the King's body servant fail to materialise. There are feasts every so often, but so far the one at which he'd saved Arthur's life has been the only one he'd attended. He sees plenty of richly dressed ladies, but usually from the corner of his eye as he hurries past them with his head down on his way to or from the King's chambers. As for new clothes, the one time he'd hesitantly mentioned that perhaps he should dress a little better, Edsel had thrown his head back and laughed, "He's not paying you to put clothes _on_, lad!"

It's a surprise, therefore, when Edsel tells Merlin to attend the King at dinner one evening. Merlin asks why, and Edsel just shrugs. "One of His Majesty's notions. Shouldn't be too hard for you."

When Merlin hurries into the dining room, slightly late, the first thing he sees is Gwen. He feels his face break into an unguarded smile, but can't talk to her because there are three pairs of eyes on him. Prince Arthur and the Lady Morgana are apparently dining with the King tonight.

Merlin spends most of the meal fidgeting. From his position behind the King's chair, he can see that he's being watched. Prince Arthur glances at him from the corner of his eye, quickly looking away when he realises Merlin can see him. The Lady Morgana is less subtle, watching him openly, smiling at him occasionally. It makes Merlin nervous. There's a gleam in her eye, and she is clearly as headstrong and combative as the King has said; she baits him gently throughout the meal and Merlin can hear the restrained anger in his voice as he responds. Much of their conversation is clearly well-trodden ground and Merlin's attention is focused more on catching the Prince's brief glances at him than on listening.

As the meal ends, though, and the King begins to push his chair back, the Lady Morgana says "Uther, I'm shocked that you have become bored with your new favourite so quickly."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well, since Merlin here has graduated to table service, I presume that means that you must have allocated his other duties to yet another attractive young man. Isn't that your usual practice?"

There's a long pause. Merlin feels his cheeks grow red and drops his eyes; he knows Gwen is probably looking at him, willing him to look up so she can communicate some sympathy, but he doesn't want sympathy and he doesn't want to look. At the same time, the Lady's comments have set his heart racing unexpectedly. Is she correct? Is this the way he's to find out that he's sacked? What has he done wrong?

The King's voice is dangerously low when he responds. "Morgana. I realise that the servants' welfare is your responsibility, but you can trust me to manage my personal attendants. Merlin's duties are none of your concern."

"I'm not concerned with his _duties_. The entire castle knows what those are."

"Morgana!" The King is angry now; Merlin feels his ears redden and his shoulders tense at the sharpness, the disdain in her voice, and the anger in the King's. "I will not have the arrangements of my personal household questioned!"

Prince Arthur, who has been silent for some time now, speaks up. "Perhaps we could refrain from discussing the servants in front of them?"

The King looks up. "You are both dismissed. And Merlin?"

"Sire?"

"Go to my chambers and wait for me there."

Merlin hurries out of the room with Gwen at his heels. As he leaves he hears the Lady Morgana snap, "I want to be sure that you're not misusing the poor boy. It's hardly fair to suddenly throw him out of your bed just as he's gotten used to being there. Unless he didn't want to be there in the first place?"

The door thuds closed behind them and the raised voices are muffled.

Merlin strides past Gwen, who after her first soft "Merlin..." wisely chooses not to follow him. He's barely conscious of his fast walk to the King's chambers. Edsel's not there, thank goodness; Merlin doesn't think he could bear that particular chirpiness right now. He's been here, though, because the fire is dancing merrily and there's wine on the table. The room is blood-warm and his head is throbbing.

Most of the time, he's reasonably content with his life in Camelot. The pay is good, the food is good and plentiful, and there's lots to see, and more people than Merlin's seen in his entire life combined. He has Gaius to guide his magic, and the book to help him learn it. He's got Gwen, to gossip with and to offer a smile and a soft word when he needs it. Edsel's cheerful and quick to provide praise based on Uther's moods, about the only feedback Merlin gets from his time with the King. The rest of the servants leave him alone, although he's at least progressed to cordial nodding with most of them.

His time with the King, although it's the main focus of his duties, is fairly insignificant when compared to all these good things about Camelot. It takes up very little of his time, in the grand scheme of things. He doesn't have to think about it very much, in fact is better off if he doesn't think too hard about it, and he's getting better at it all the time. The occasional bruise or brief pain is quickly gone and only physical; Merlin's body heals as if nothing had happened. The King is pleased with him, and trusts him.

And he has a purpose, something to look forward to; talks with a dragon, a future of freely used magic, and destiny.

_I'm not concerned with his duties. The entire castle knows what those are._

A wave of anger and humiliation floods Merlin suddenly; his chest is tight and his skin prickles. His fellow servants accept his role, the King is pleased with him, but the nobility evidently despises him; including, probably, the prince whose destiny is allegedly intertwined with his own. He feels like the moment before a thunderstorm, aching to burst, longing for expression and relief. He spits out a word and the fire roars up, fierce and proud for a moment, before subsiding to its previous level.

The door opens. But it's not the King. It's Prince Arthur.

"Ah, Merlin," he says, more an acknowledgement of Merlin's presence than a greeting. "I believe I left a knife here earlier this afternoon. Have you seen such a thing about?"

"No, sire."

"Well then, you can help me look for it, can't you?"

The room is tidy, and there is very obviously no knife on any of the visible surfaces. Merlin makes a half-hearted pretense of looking anyway, crouching down to look under the table. When he comes back up, the Prince's blue eyes are fixed on him. With the King or any other noble Merlin would drop his gaze, but this is Prince Prat himself, and Merlin's nearly beaten him in a fight and saved his life and then there's destiny, and this is one person he's going to look straight in the eye.

"Merlin..."

"Sire?"

Arthur speaks with measured deliberation. ""The discussion you heard in the dining chamber. Well. The Lady Morgana often challenges the King, about all kinds of... minor issues." For the first time since Merlin's seen him, the Prince is obviously not entirely at ease. He swallows, looks away for a second before fixing his eyes again on Merlin's face.

"You should not assume that your... duties... are a matter of common concern. Other members of court would certainly not stoop to discussing such minor issues. Do you understand me?" The blue eyes are holding Merlin's intensely.

"Yes, sire." Merlin says, and finds that something's loosened in his chest.

"Well," says Arthur. "Can't have you thinking yourself more important than you are." There's another pause. "Hmm. I don't see my knife."

"Perhaps Edsel found it, and returned it to your chambers?" suggests Merlin.

"Perhaps he did. Goodnight, then."

***

It's not long after Prince Arthur leaves that the King sweeps in, fully dressed and without Edsel. His face is shuttered; Merlin can't guess whether he's in a mood or not, and winces inwardly. This could be good or it could be very bad.

"Come here." The King looks at him directly. "Undress me."

When Merlin's before him, though, moving to take his jacket, the King suddenly grips his chin with one gloved hand.

"Merlin. You are content in my service." There's just enough hesitation that it might be a question, but not enough to be sure. The next sentence, though, is definitely a question. "You did not feel forced to take up your position, and you are here of your own free will?"

"I am here of my own free will, my lord." It's not a lie, not really.

"And you want this." This time it's not a question.

Merlin hesitates. That's not exactly a lie either. Not exactly.

"You want this." Uther repeats. "Tell me how much you want this." But before Merlin can speak, Uther pulls him close, kisses his neck, whispers "Show me that you want this" with his lips in Merlin's hair. His voice sounds... different. Rough. Merlin pulls back slightly. He looks at the King's face, which is still shuttered and still, and then leans forward to kiss his lips, gentle as a feather, but increasing the pressure slowly, working his way up to sucking on the King's upper lip, slipping his tongue inside, letting his eyes flutter closed -

The King breaks away. "Open your eyes. Look at me."

Merlin does so, and goes back to work. He knows the King has his eyes open, too, but that's nothing new. Having his own open is new, however, and he has to adjust to the strangeness of being able to see the King's face, so close up, while he nibbles and kisses. It's difficult; he's fallen into a certain pattern of behaviour, and this isn't part of it. He doesn't think he can concentrate properly with the King's face so close, so he lets his eyes unfocus and drift. When he begins to unfasten the King's jacket, however, he's stilled as the King reaches up and captures his wrists. He's studying Merlin's face intently. Merlin lets his eyes fall.

"Merlin." The King's voice is soft, almost breathing the name.

Merlin wills his hands and arms to relax in the King's hold, until his wrists are dropped. "What is your will, my lord?"

"I think, tonight, I would rather know _your_ will."

Merlin lifts his eyes in astonishment.

"My - my will? My will is to - that is - my will is to do what - is to do your will, my lord."

But the King is smiling at him, a genuine smile, all the shutters suddenly fallen away, his face crinkling around the eyes and his mouth gentle. "Merlin, you have served me well and faithfully. When you came to us you were an untrained country boy, with no experience of court, or of the duties which fell upon you. And yet your devotion and skill have been quite extraordinary."

"Thank you, my lord."

"And as a reward for your service," says the King carefully and distinctly, "I would like to know your will."

He can't have heard right. Or maybe it's a test. A trick.

"What do you most wish to do? What would give you pleasure tonight?" the King asks, a little impatiently.

_Oh, to go back to my own room, get into bed, read my magic book, practise some spells..._

"You may speak your mind," prompts the King, and Merlin is suddenly, terribly close to giggling. The gentleness on the King's face is making it worse. It's too sincere.

"Perhaps you cannot tell me?" suggests Uther. "Perhaps you would rather... show me what it is you desire?" He smiles and removes his gloves. "Show me. Show me what you want."

_This isn't happening. I can't think of anything can't tell him anything what can I do?_ His ears are hot, his face tingling. The heat in the room is oppressive and Merlin realises he can at least do something about that, can turn it into something the King might interpret as eagerness. He fumbles at his shirt, pulls it off quickly, does the same with his trousers, giving himself a quick rub as he does so to coax his cock from its vaguely interested state into proper readiness for action. He glances up. The King is watching, smiling benevolently.

"Would you like me to remove my clothing for you?"

Merlin nods, unable to open his mouth. He moves to the bed, lies there stroking himself as Uther takes his own clothes off slowly and methodically, glancing over after every garment to see how Merlin's reacting. Merlin smiles automatically, playing with himself, letting the physical sensation wash over him and keep him hard.

When Uther's naked he comes towards the bed. "Where would you like me?"

Merlin swallows and moves over. Uther, obviously interpreting the gulp as desire, is beginning to smile slyly. He stretches himself out on the bed. Merlin changes position so that he's lying on his side, his feet almost on the pillow and his head towards the foot of the bed; in this position he has an excuse not to look at the King's face. He reaches out and grasps the King's hard cock, stretching the foreskin back, puts his lips over the tip and sucks gently. The King makes a tiny sound, just a fragment of a sigh; Merlin slides his mouth down luxuriously, then up and off, gathering himself for the next go.

"I think I know what you want from me," murmurs Uther. The bed heaves and shifts beneath him as the King turns a little more to his side and adjusts his position, and then the King's hands are on him, one on his thigh and one at the base of his cock, and then before Merlin can respond or make a noise or even think, a hot wet warm mouth is surrounding his cock, and there's sliding and - _oh god_ \- sucking. He lets out an involuntary "aaaah!" of surprise; the King grunts in pleasure and draws his mouth back up and then there's just his lips, nibbling and nuzzling and sucking precisely at the slit before sinking all the way down again. He's good at this; and why is that so surprising?

Merlin stops sucking, stops attending to the King at all, just lies there with his face in the King's groin, hands and lips against his hard wet cock. It's an embarrassingly short time before feels himself gathering, tipping, sliding towards the edge; he chokes out "Sire, oh god, I'm - " but Uther just sucks harder and then Merlin's coming, so hard, shouting loudly and wordlessly and trying to muffle it by pressing his face into the King's damp flesh. As he cries out for the last time he feels the King shove himself up hard; there's hot wetness against his face and he realises the King's coming too, over Merlin's lips and his fingers and even in his nose. The King's making noise as well, loud uninhibited groans from deep within; by the time Merlin has recovered enough to try and get his lips over the King's cock again, it's all but over.

They lie there, Merlin's head on the King's thigh. Their breathing is very loud in the silence.

Uther presses a kiss to Merlin's sated cock. "That was..." His voice trails away. He slides himself away from Merlin's long frame and Merlin is able to close his eyes. He's beginning to feel sticky and clumsy and very embarrassed, which is something he hasn't felt in the King's bed for quite a while.

There's a hand on his face; the King is back. He begins to gently stroke over Merlin's face with a wet cloth, wiping him clean. Merlin keeps his eyes closed, trying to get his breathing under control, but the gentleness of the cloth on his face makes his breath hitch.

"You enjoyed that. I can tell." There's a teasing smile in the King's voice. He's finished wiping Merlin's face and is sitting on the bed beside him.

"Yes, sire." Merlin opens his eyes. He doesn't want to look at Uther, but he does. He finds a smile, and Uther answers with his own, but it's no longer open and gentle. The shutters have fallen back over his features; he's complacent, and in perfect control.

"Pour me some wine," says Uther. "And one for you too. We'll drink, together. And then you can go home."

The time for pleasure is over, apparently. Merlin's absurdly grateful.

***

 

After that evening, things change.

Merlin is often asked to attend the King much earlier in the evenings than usual, and when he turns up there's a table in the King's quarters set for two. He eats with the King, listens to him talk, nods in all the right places. It's strange, since he's also expected to pour the King's wine and attend to him. The food is absolutely delicious, and the wine plentiful - in fact, the King's always trying to tempt him to drink more than he wishes. Merlin sips his wine as slowly as he dares. He doesn't like to think of what might happen if he got drunk, really drunk, and did something with his magic.

After a few weeks, he realises that something more is being asked of him as well.

It begins when Uther asks him what he's thinking about.

"Sire?"

"What are you thinking about? You can tell me." They're lying, spent and sated, side by side on the bed and the King is stroking along Merlin's arm to his hand, caressing each finger in turn.

Merlin's brain begins to fizz around the edges as it always does when the King says something that makes him want to laugh. He's been calculating how long it will be before the King sends him away, and simultaneously wondering whether there's a spell that can remove oil from his clothing. He's normally quite good at taking care of his clothes but oil's very tricky and tends to spread into large dark patches; he's just grateful his trousers are dark-coloured and nobody but him really notices.

"Oil," he blurts.

"Oil?" The King laughs.

"I was just wondering," says Merlin carefully, "if there was anything less... oily. Than oil. That we can use." He sees the King looking at him quizzically. "It's very... It gets into my clothes." He feels his face heat up.

"Hmmm." The King seems to be considering this. "Why don't you ask Gaius?"

"Ask - ask Gaius?" Oh god. Merlin gulps.

"Yes. You still live there, don't you? I'm sure he'll be able to suggest something more suitable. Less... oily." The King looks amused. "You can bring it with you next time."

_Wonderful_, thinks Merlin.

***

Asking Gaius for something less oily than oil is easier than Merlin expects. Which isn't to say that it's exactly _easy_. Once Gaius realises that Merlin's stammering is due to embarrasment and not a medical condition, he stops him from trying to explain and just asks a series of questions to which Merlin can respond non-verbally. Once they've ascertained that yes, this is related to Merlin's duties, and no, their activities are not causing pain for him or for the King, Gaius thankfully seems to work it out and potters around in a cupboard, coming up with a small earthenware jar. "This is something I make for the ladies of the court, to soften their skin, but this one is without scent. It should... it should smooth the way - "

Merlin grabs the jar, interrupting. "Yes, that's - that's - I get it. Thank you. Now please let's not speak about this again, all right?"

Gaius' eyebrow goes up. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, Merlin. You are in a very privileged position and you have a vital role. Easing the King's tension and providing him with companionship is one of the most important things you can do for Camelot."

"And a tense king is a cranky king?"

The eyebrow reaches its greatest height. "Precisely."

"I bet Arthur won't bugger the servants to _ease his tension_."

The eyebrow lowers. Gaius' voice is gentle. "Merlin. Arthur will have a queen. Uther has not that luxury."

The next evening, when Merlin enters the King's chambers, there's a tub of gently steaming water by the fire, and more water heating at the hearth. Merlin wonders if this is an unsubtle attempt to tell him he smells, but apparently not because the King tells him "The water will stay warm for a while" and then makes him pour wine. After they've dined, and the King has used the new salve (which is greasy, but not as trickly and spreading as oil, thank goodness) to finger Merlin thoroughly and then fuck him in a leisurely manner, he says "You may bathe before you go." and closes his eyes.

Merlin rarely gets the chance to soak his entire body in hot water, and he doesn't hesitate; there aren't that many perks to this job, and a hot bath is a bloody good one. The water is warm and is made almost perfect when he adds a bucketful of the heating water at the hearth. Immersing himself in the water, using the soap laid out by the tub, washing himself with a soft cloth is blissful and luxurious and he closes his eyes as he squeezes the cloth and lets the hot water trickle over his chest. He's quiet, because the King is apparently asleep and Merlin has no desire to incur his wrath by waking him.

But when he glances over, the glint of eyes tells him the King is watching him, and suddenly the bath is much less fun.

 

***

 

Things become more complicated.

There's often a bath in the King's chambers now, not every night but at least two or three times a week. Edsel is less friendly when he comes for Merlin, rarely speaking more than absolutely necessary; Merlin supposes it must be galling to him to have to draw a bath for a fellow servant as well as to bring food and wine for him. He wonders if he should mention it, but there seems no good way to broach the topic, so he doesn't.

The bath is always heavenly, but Merlin keeps spotting the King watching him surreptitiously and it considerable lessens his enjoyment. He's not sure whether the King expects him to linger more over his bathing, show himself off, or whether he should just continue pretending he's unaware of the eyes on him. He chooses the latter. It's simplest, and even though he knows that the King enjoys looking at him when he's naked, Merlin's still not sure how much of it is sincere admiration and how much is just because he's there.

The King is beginning to talk more and more, and what's more, he seems to expect Merlin to answer him. Merlin's job is harder; now he actually has to pay attention to what's being said. More and more often, he's being asked questions that require actual responses. Uther asks him whether Gaius is teaching him how to practice medicine, whether he enjoys it, whether he would be interested in doing it in future. He asks about Ealdor, how big it is, how the harvest is celebrated, what level of taxes King Cendred levels on his people and how often they are collected. He asks Merlin if he has ever seen knights before he came to Camelot, and whose colours they wore. He asks what Merlin thinks of Camelot, and what's different about life there as opposed to life in Ealdor. He asks Merlin if he misses his mother and if he'd like to invite her to visit him. Eventually he runs out of things to ask, and then he begins asking Merlin what he is thinking, almost every night.

Merlin doesn't mind being asked about life in Ealdor, although he tries to stick to festivals and fishing rather than his mother, but he really doesn't like being asked what he's thinking. What's going on inside his head is his own, and nobody else has any right to know it. He can't exactly say that to the King, though. And he can't tell the King what's really in his head even if he was willing to, because it nearly always involves magic, or wondering if the dragon knows about his position in the royal household, or wondering how he's going to find something to say when the King asks him what he's thinking.

One morning, Merlin comes up with a brilliant solution; he needs to fill his head with new things to talk about. If it's his job to provide the King with conversation and companionship, he'd better learn how to do that part of his job better. He vows to find at least one thing every day which he can talk to the King about that night.

His first few attempts go very well. First he says that he's wondering about the history of Camelot, how long it's been standing and what was here before. The King is delighted to have the opportunity to speak of past kings and expansions and conquests, while Merlin props himself up on his elbow and looks impressed. Then he asks the King about knighthood, a subject Merlin knows very little about, despite having spent much of his childhood soaking up Will's bitterness at his father's death amongst Cendred's knights. The King is amused at first when Merlin asks how knights are chosen, asking with a superior smile hovering at the edge of his mouth "You don't think _you_ could become a knight, surely?" Merlin shakes his head, swallowing his anger and instead summoning an embarrassed half-smile, and adopts an air of eager admiration as Uther speaks of duty and honour and the knight's code.

This is a more complicated topic and Merlin finds himself actually becoming interested, with the result that the conversation lasts over several evenings and on one occasion actually begins before the sex. He congratulates himself on his success in keeping the King happy while preventing him from getting inside Merlin's own head.

It's the need to find more to talk about that sends him down to the practice field to watch Prince Arthur and the knights training. He's wandered by before, but this time he really watches and pays a lot of attention to the order of things and the commands Arthur calls out. He winces when there's a particularly heavy fall or when someone lands a really heavy blow, but finds himself cheering Arthur on when he demonstrates a particularly dramatic wrist movement which disarms Sir Geraint apparently without effort. There's a lot more skill involved than just prancing round with swords and shields, apparently. The King doesn't send for him that night, but Merlin goes down to the practice field again the next morning anyway. Perhaps if he watches enough of this, he'll learn enough to be able to keep the King entertained for quite a while.

That evening he goes to the King's rooms all primed with questions and observations, but Uther beats him to it. After the meal, during which Uther bangs on about the expectations of some minor noble who seems to have particularly irritated him, they finish their wine; Merlin's mentally preparing himself for the sex to come when the King suddenly says "Arthur said you were down at the practice field today."

"Yes, my lord."

"And yesterday as well."

"Yes, my lord."

"And would you care to tell me why you were there?"

Merlin thinks frantically. Is the King displeased? Perhaps training is something that's supposed to be private, although he's seen plenty of other servants and commoners watching. Before he opens his mouth to respond, though, Uther smiles. It's quite a predatory smile. He holds out a hand and says "Come here."

Merlin comes around to the King's chair, thinking he'll be asked to go down on his knees and use his mouth. Instead, the King reaches up, winds his arm around Merlin's waist and pulls Merlin down onto his knee.

_This is ridiculous_, Merlin thinks. He may be slim, but he's far too tall to fit neatly on Uther's lap. Uther doesn't seem to notice, however, using the arm around Merlin's waist to angle him better. "I know why you went down there," Uther murmurs, low and intimate. "You like the knights, don't you? You like to watch them." He reaches one hand underneath Merlin's shirt to tease his nipples. "Tell me what you saw today."

Merlin mentally readjusts himself and begins his prepared chatter about the knights' practice, although when Uther begins to fondle and squeeze him through the fabric of his trousers, it becomes more difficult. He'd planned this as an after-sex conversation. It's impossible to talk about practice without mentioning Prince Arthur and it's just wrong to be telling the King how skilled and strong his son is while the King's hand is on his bum. Not that the King himself seems to have any problems with it.

"You don't need to pretend," the King says as he unlaces Merlin's trousers. "Watching the knights train gives you pleasure, doesn't it?" He reaches in and wraps his hand around Merlin's cock, which is fortunately at full attention from all the caressing it's been getting. "It excites you." He begins to stroke, watching Merlin's face.

_Oh, help,_ Merlin thinks. He leans forward as far as he can without tipping them over and whispers, "Can we go to the bed, Sire?"

"An excellent suggestion," says Uther. "Take your clothes off. I want to feel your skin pressed against me."

When they're both stretched naked on the bed and Merlin is kissing the King's neck and sliding luxuriously against him, remembering to gasp and moan at intervals, the King says, "There is a tournament next week. We will watch together." He turns his face into Merlin's hair and whispers "I too find the fighting... pleasurable. I look forward to experiencing that together."

Merlin shivers at the King's breath against his ear.

***

 

The day of the tournament is fine and hot. The castle is bustling with activity; people cross corridors and courtyards, duck out of doorways and race down stairs. Everybody's busy. Merlin spends the early morning helping Gaius to prepare and pack a good supply of bandages, poultices and ointments for the day. He's looked forward to spending the afternoon watching the fighting, but he's not sure whether the King really meant that he wanted them to watch together, or whether he might have changed his mind in the interim. Edsel's knock and the curt jerk of his head towards the door clarify that, however.

"Are you going to watch the tournament today?" asks Merlin as he strides along beside Edsel.

"If I get the chance," and Edsel sounds snappish. "You better be quick up there. Try not to disturb his clothes too much, or else I'm going to have to dress him again afterwards, and I've only just finished getting him ready."

"I don't think that's what he wants me for," says Merlin.

Edsel snorts.

The King is fully dressed and magnificently cloaked when they arrive. He smiles formally as they enter.

"Edsel, thank you. You are dismissed until this evening. Enjoy the tournament."

"Thank you, your Majesty."

As Edsel disappears, the King turns to Merlin. His eyes are sparkling and there's a smile on his face; suddenly the formality is gone and he looks joyful, unfettered. Merlin's never seen him like this before; even when he's gasping or groaning out his pleasure, the King's face is at least partly shuttered. This Uther looks almost... like a boy.

"Have you eaten?" asks the King. "We have time." He indicates the laden table behind him. "Sit down, have something."

The food is bread, fruit and cheese, nothing too exciting - even the King eats moderately today, in anticipation of tonight's feast - but Merlin is hungry and falls to it willingly, all the more so because for once in the King's presence, he's not being watched. The King is standing by the window, sipping watered wine and viewing the tournament preparations.

The door opens, and Merlin looks up, startled. It's the Lady Morgana, splendid as the morning in bright silk. "My lord -" She breaks off, uncertain, when she sees Merlin.

The King waves a hand from his position by the window. "Morgana. Come in. Would you like some wine?"

Morgana's eyes are wide as she freezes by the door. "I have no wish to intrude, my lord."

"Nonsense. You are not intruding - we're just breaking our fast before we go down to the field. Please, join us."

There's a rustling as Morgana moves across the room and seats herself at the table. Merlin stands, pours her wine; he glances at the King to gauge whether he should serve her further, but at the raised eye and hand gesture retreats to his own seat again, keeping his eyes down. He wonders if the Lady Morgana has ever before entered a room to find a servant seated while his master stands. He is out of place.

Later, when he takes his seat beside the King in the stands, the feeling intensifies until it blackens the morning. The whispers and giggles from the court and spectators don't seem much louder than they were before they took their seats, but the collective gaze of the assembled knights is not easy to bear. Most of all, Merlin feels Arthur's eyes on him, making him lower his own. He doesn't know what the expression on Arthur's face means. It's not distaste, or anger, or curiosity; whatever it is, it's as impenetrable as armour.

When the tournament begins, though, it's easier. Merlin cheers and applauds with the rest of them and nobody pays attention to him. Even the regard of the King rests on him lightly for once, limited as it is to the occasional laughing glance or squeeze of his knee. For once he can fall into in the clang and flash of steel, the smell of hot metal and the shouts of the crowd, and lose himself in the hot bright day.

***

The shadows are long on the field and the crowd is milling around, spilling onto the scuffed field to buy food or drink from the vendors who've suddenly appeared; Merlin casts a longing glance backward as he follows the King to his chambers. Gaius is down there tending the wounded, and he sees Gwen giggling, biting into a ripe fruit with flowers in her hair, as he hurries past. It's been a good day and the late afternoon air is gold and still as honey.

"Bar the door," says the King as they enter his chambers. Merlin does so. When he turns back into the room, the King is stripping off his own gloves and cloak, eyes alight. "Quickly," he says. "There isn't much time. Edsel will be here soon to dress me for the feast." And with that he seizes Merlin by both wrists and drags him towards the bed; he laughs as he lets go abruptly and Merlin spills onto the bedcovers. Merlin raises himself up on his elbows indignantly, and then gasps as the King is suddenly atop him, all lips and bulk and possessive hands. He smells of sweat and the sun.

"You smell so good," murmurs the King, burying his nose in the spot under Merlin's ear and kissing there. "We must be quick now, but I promise you a night to remember later." He rolls onto his side, sliding a hand into Merlin's hair, smiling teasingly as he urges his head down. "Show me how quickly you can pleasure your King."

Edsel arrives just after Merlin has unbarred the door, so conveniently that Merlin suspects he's been listening. The King is off the bed and smoothing his disarranged clothing; Merlin is still dishevelled. He's hot and itchy, frustrated and half-hard, and his neck has the peculiar not-quite-dirty feel his skin gets when it's been mouthed and licked. Also, even for a quick blowjob, that wasn't his best effort and he knows it. The heat of the late afternoon seems to have got into his blood and made his movements clumsy and sluggish. The King, on the other hand, doesn't seem to have noticed anything. In fact, he's positively jovial, apparently still buoyed by the excitement of the day.

"Ah, Edsel. Very good timing. I have only just arrived back from the tournament."

"Yes, my lord?" Edsel's tone is neutral.

"You can have the evening off, Edsel. Merlin will attend me at the feast tonight." The King catches Merlin's eye over Edsel's shoulder and winks conspiratorially at him.

"Very good, my lord," says Edsel, and pointedly doesn't look at Merlin.

***

This is only the second feast Merlin's attended since arriving in Camelot, and it's definitely been worth the wait.

For a start, this is much bigger than the feast at which he saved Arthur's life. The great hall is lined with trestle tables bearing brightly glazed wine jugs and the tables are a dazzle of candles and precious metal. There are visiting knights and nobles here, clad in fur and shining silk; there's music as they eat, and jugglers while they drink. Merlin stands behind the King's chair, properly attentive, refilling his cup as required and enjoying the spectacle. It's as impressive and interesting as the tournament in its own way.

The King limits his attentions to gesturing with his goblet, and occasionally smiling at Merlin or brushing a hand against his arm when he leans over to pour. Beyond that he ignores him, for which Merlin is grateful. He's had the King paying attention to him all day and he's reaching the end of his tether. Normally he can put up with the brushing and petting and attention because he knows it'll be over soon; an hour, maybe two at most. Today has been simultaneously wonderful and far too long. He doesn't want to cage his tongue any longer, but he must be still and calm. There's still that promised "night to remember" to come.

As the evening wears on, the King drinks more and becomes even merrier, and Merlin wonders whether he's forgotten about the promised evening activities. He certainly seems to have forgotten about Merlin. It's getting late now, and most people are moving around the hall, swooping to claim temporary seats next to cronies or co-conspirators. Many of the younger people are dancing; the Lady Morgana is laughing as she leaves the circle of dancers, her cheeks pink with exertion. The King has taken a place further down the table, laughing uproariously with a group of older knights. Many servants are seated on long benches at the far end of the hall, laughing just as cheerfully, enjoying the dancing and the playing of the minstrels. It's hot and noisy and the room smells of sweat and wine, wax and roses.

Merlin has just about decided to join the other servants at the end of the hall - the King is well served by a cluster of servants who seem to be listening to the knights jest and laugh - when his wrist is suddenly gripped. It's the Lady Morgana, fresh from dancing and her colour still high.

"Merlin! Come, sit with me."

Merlin hesitates, not sure whether this is allowed, but her sparkling eyes and the merriment he sees there persuade him. He takes the indicated seat beside her.

"Pour me some wine," she says. "And some for you, too."

The wine is wonderful. Merlin gulps it down. He's thirsty; it's so hot in the room.

"Is that good?" The Lady Morgana smiles at him. She leans forward, her fingertips just brushing the back of his hand, tenderly. "Did you enjoy the tournament?"

"Yes, my lady."

"It's so warm in here. You must be thirsty. More wine?"

The Lady smiles and tops up his goblet herself; her rings glint at him like eyes.

 

***

 

It's getting late. The dancing has died away although the minstrels are still playing; the music is gentler now.

The Lady Morgana is the most beautiful woman Merlin has ever seen, and she's sweet-voiced and sweet-scented and talks to him as if he's a real person. However, she keeps filling his goblet with more wine and urging him to drink, and he knows that's not a good idea but he can't think of a good way to refuse. When the King tries to get him to drink more than he wants to, he can distract him with a glance from under his lashes, licking his lips and reaching for him with worshipful hands. That's not a tactic Merlin can use here.

He thinks he might be a little out of his depth, but at the same time everything seems beautifully appropriate, as if he's just where he needs to be and doing what he needs to be doing. He's leaning his head lazily on his hand, elbow hard against the table. He's been talking for a while. Sometimes he looks at the Lady Morgana and her face is blurred, as if he's watching her through water or she's much further away than she is. He has a lot of things he needs to say to her, and she's paying attention. Nobody ever pays him this much attention except the King. It's wonderful.

"It was easy in the beginning but now it's all mixed up and I don't know where I am any more. My mother said, Merlin, Gaius is the only person I trust my only son with. I think she worries 'cos I've never had a father. But I never needed one. I can look after myself and her as well. It's very hot in here. Where's the King?"

"He's fine, Merlin." The Lady Morgana's gaze glides over Merlin's shoulder, over his head, to someone standing behind him. Merlin lets his head fall back to see Prince Arthur standing behind him, one eyebrow quirked in an expression worthy of Gaius.

"What are you staring at, Arthur?" asks the Lady Morgana sweetly.

"I don't know. I'd need to have a look at Gaius' monster book to identify it."

Morgana smirks.

"I'm not surprised you can't recognise a woman when you see one, Arthur. All that time spent running about with your knights. If you don't watch out you'll end up with your father's proclivities."

Arthur's face turns darker.

"What are you doing, exactly?"

"I'm having a drink with Merlin."

"I can see that. _Why_ are you having a drink with Merlin?"

"You can't possibly be jealous, Arthur? Merlin's practically family."

Merlin giggles. Arthur reaches forward and takes the goblet from his hand.

"Hey!" Merlin protests.

"I think you've had enough," says Arthur coldly. He yanks Merlin to his feet. Merlin hears the Lady Morgana call "Arthur!" but she already sounds as if she's a long way away. His legs are moving, although he's not sure why because he doesn't seem to be propelling them of his own accord. Arthur has a hard grip on his arm and one hand on his back, and they're moving down a corridor. Their feet slap loudly on the stone. It's cold out here.

"I have to be there! The King wants me!" Merlin insists. It is very important that Arthur understands this.

Arthur doesn't reply. His face is implacable. Merlin can smell wine on his breath.

A door swings open and Merlin's attention swings with it, and then he's shoved into a chair, jarring him all the way up his backbone.

Merlin stares at Arthur. In the firelight he can see that the prince is probably somewhat under the influence himself; his eyes are bright, his face red, and his chest is heaving.

"Servants aren't supposed to drink," says Arthur at last, his voice very controlled.

Merlin gapes. "But we just passed a whole lot of them in the hall!"

"On duty, Merlin. Servants aren't permitted to drink whilst serving."

"Oh."

"So what were you thinking?" Arthur's voice gets louder. "Don't you realise that you could get into trouble?"

"The Lady Morgana made me-"

"Oh, the Lady Morgana! You could have just _reminded her_ of the rules! She couldn't have made you if you hadn't let her!"

"How could I remind her of the rules when I don't even know them?" Merlin knows his voice is rising ridiculously and he doesn't care; it's this or else let his magic flare out in anger. "It's not like you lot have training for us! It's not like someone gives you a book that says you can't drink on duty, and you can say no to ladies giving you wine, and oh by the way "body servant" means the king wants to sleep with you! There's no - there's no _instructions_!" Merlin's proud of himself for getting that word out with such emphasis. It seems very important.

Arthur is looking at him with the same strange expression Merlin's seen on his face before; his voice is low but every word falls like a slap in the quiet room.

"Are you telling me that when the King offered you the position you - you did not know what it meant?"

"How could I?" asks Merlin, confused.

"Well..." Arthur's at a loss. "Everybody knows. Everybody does know - "

"Everybody in Camelot, maybe. I'm not from Camelot. How is anybody who's not from Camelot supposed to work out what you lot are on about half the time?"

Arthur has gone still; his face is stone. Merlin knows he's crossed a line; fear pierces his belly.

"Well," says Arthur, slowly. "There's no way you can remain in the King's employ now."

"Why not?" Merlin's confused.

"Because, Merlin! Because we don't make people, I don't know about Cendred's kingdom but in Camelot we don't make people do that!"

"Do what?"

Arthur's voice is rising. "In Camelot we don't force people into servitude. We don't make servants provide us with those favours. I'm sure the King did not realise, when you accepted the position, that you did not know that. He would not wish to distress you. He's fond of you. I'll talk to him and -"

"No!"

"No?" Arthur's face is shocked.

"No! That's my _job_. I'm _good_ at it. You're not taking it away! If I don't have my job I'll have to leave Camelot and I can't leave, I can't!"

There is a very long pause. Merlin feels pathetic and stupid and utterly wretched. His cheeks are hot; his ears burn with shame. His hands dangle on the ends of his wrists, too large and clumsy. His head feels stuffed with wool.

Arthur shoves a goblet into his hand, but it's not wine; it's water, beautiful shivering water, clear and cold. Suddenly Merlin has never wanted anything more in his life.

"Drink that," says Arthur, his voice rough. "You need to piss the wine out."

Merlin drinks.

***

Arthur's moving around the room fidgeting and lighting candles, and Merlin's on his second goblet of water, when there's a knock at the door. It's the Lady Morgana.

"Morgana," says Arthur. He gestures towards Merlin. "Come to do some more damage?"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. I didn't give him that much."

"Drink much wine, do you, Merlin?" asks Arthur calmly.

"Not usually," answers Merlin. "Well. Not at all. Just a sip, with the King. Sometimes. When he -"

"There, Morgana. You should have watered the wine or given him ale."

Morgana's face is colouring again. "I didn't know. I'm sorry, Merlin."

Merlin looks at her beautiful, distressed face and offers her a smile. It comes out a little wider and sillier than he intended. Arthur rolls his eyes.

"Either way, he's got to sober up. Neither of you wants to incur Father's wrath tonight. It's rare that he has a good day; I don't want it wasted."

"That's what I came to tell you," says Morgana urgently. "Uther's looking for Merlin. He wants him now. I think some people saw him come up here with you -"

Arthur's face turns indignant. "Why didn't you say so in the first place?"

There's a pause. Merlin looks from Arthur's frowning face to Morgana's beseeching one.

Arthur's face clears. "Morgana, you need to delay my father. Tell him that you think Merlin's sick and with Gaius. That will hold him long enough for me to sober Merlin up somewhat and get him out of here. Go." Morgana's gone in a whirl of bright silk almost before he's finished speaking.

"What should I do?" asks Merlin.

"You can finish your water and then get to the garderobe." snaps Arthur. "Get rid of that wine. Make yourself vomit if you have to."

Arthur's garderobe, like the one in the King's chambers, is reached from a narrow passageway off the antechamber. Merlin steadies himself with a hand against the wall. There's an icy draft and the stone is cold; it helps to get through the haze of wine. His head is clearing, as if curtains are being slowly drawn back in his mind. He splashes his face with cold water.

As he enters the antechamber on his way back, Merlin hears raised voices. The King is in Arthur's chambers and it sounds as if they're in the middle of an argument. Merlin's surprised; how long was he in the garderobe? It didn't seem like that long a time.

"Are we to be like the Roman emperors now, dragging our favourites into the public arena and making fools of ourselves?"

"You are speaking of your own forebears, Arthur. The people from whom much of our tradition is drawn. Would you fault their wisdom?"

"For learning, governing, military tactics, no! But this is different! Was it not the licentiousness and corruption of their rulers that caused the Roman empire to fall? Being slaves to their personal pleasures, commanding no respect from their people -"

Uther's voice is cold, with scorn in it. "Are you implying that my people do not respect me? That I am not worthy in their eyes?"

Arthur's voice, in contrast, is earnest. "Father. You are the strongest and most upright man I know, and all who know you must give you the respect that is your due. But most people in your kingdom do not know you, have never had the chance, and they may fall prey to rumours and doubts. This public display of a relationship, which is not sanctioned by the bonds of family or the rules of state, may be perceived as a sign of weakness. You have always taught me that a king must not show a preference lest his enemies find a weakness to exploit. What if some rival king begins spreading rumours that your visits to the outer regions are to find boys to take to your bed? Or that you've become soft and degenerate, caring only for pleasures of the flesh? What if someone decides to kidnap Merlin, force your secrets out of him, to gain the advantage over you?" Arthur's voice becomes softer. "Please, father. Nobody is suggesting that you give him up. All I ask is that you think carefully about what you do and about how it will appear to those who do not have the chance to truly know you."

There is a long moment, during which Merlin holds his breath.

"I will speak to you tomorrow," says Uther coldly. "I have a servant to find."

"Father - "

The door thuds into place.

Merlin emerges from the antechamber to find Arthur leaning back against the table.

"Feeling better?"

"Definitely," says Merlin. "Just a little fuzzy now."

"You have to get down to your room," says Arthur, "Gaius can tell him you're not well. That way he'll leave you alone and he won't get close enough to smell the wine."

"Why were you arguing about me?" asks Merlin. "I said you didn't need to do that."

"It wasn't about you. Well," Arthur amends, "not _all_ about you."

"You didn't need to say all that stuff about Roman emperors and respect. I thought you said you didn't want him in a bad mood?"

Arthur rolls his eyes again. "_Merlin_. He was _already_ in a bad mood because he couldn't find _you_. If you hadn't been an idiot, he would still be having a good evening and I wouldn't be making plans behind my father's back."

"I didn't ask you to drag me up here," says Merlin. "It would've been all right if you'd left me there."

"If he'd found you drunk it would have been even worse. This way he'll only be angry for as long as he can't find out where you are. When Gaius tells him you're sick - "

"Then he'll be _frustrated_," snaps Merlin, tired and heartsick and cross at Arthur for interfering. "You've made things _worse_."

Arthur scowls. "Don't be ridiculous. I think I know my father better than you do."

"I know him better than you think," says Merlin defiantly. "_Surprisingly_ well. He trusts me."

Arthur snorts. Merlin glares.

"All right," says Arthur after a moment. "Let's get you downstairs. The back way. And hope Morgana's got to Gaius in time."

"Even if she did, it's not as if I'm there now. Gaius won't lie to the King."

"He won't have to. Morgana's good at this kind of thing. She'll say she needs Gaius to come and help her with you or something. It'll be all right as long as we get _moving_." Arthur pushes the door open.

The King is leaning against the wall outside.

***

Merlin feels Arthur freeze, stock-still beside him. His own limbs are stiff. The King's face is immobile, eyes glittering. Hours seem to pass.

"I would ask why my servant would be hiding from me in my son's chambers," says Uther. "And I would ask why my son would lie to me."

"Father -"

"I would ask these things," continues Uther, as if Arthur had not spoken, "if I thought that I would receive a truthful answer. Until tonight I knew that my son does not lie to me. I no longer know this. And I can draw only one conclusion."

"Father, you can't possibly believe that _I_ \- that I would -"

"I no longer know what to believe."

"You wouldn't believe the truth if we told you," says Merlin, and promptly wishes he could bite his tongue off as the King turns a face of cold fury to him.

"You will come with me. And you will be silent."

"Father, _please_!"

"I told you that I would speak to you tomorrow," says Uther, and with that he seizes Merlin by the arm and pulls him savagely away. Merlin stumbles and rights himself. As Uther pulls him down the corridor he jerks his head back to look over his shoulder to Arthur, whose jaw is shifting, his eyes angry and hurt and shocked.

 

***

The King shoves Merlin through the doorway of his chambers with such force that he loses his balance and slides over the floor. He lands up against a table leg. Uther strides across, grabs his shoulder and drags him to his feet. Merlin grunts as he's pushed face down against the table, the King's hand at the top of his spine; his forehead makes contact with the wood with a clunk. His arms are by his sides, hands unable to grip anything. The table smells like beeswax.

There's a pause; Merlin can hear the King breathing harshly behind him. He ventures, "My lord-"

"Shut up." The voice is like a slap.

The King's hand leaves Merlin's neck, to begin yanking at the ties of his breeches. Merlin tries to help but the King shoves him hard, making the table jump.

"Remain still" snarls the King. He yanks Merlin's trousers, losing patience; the laces snap.

"Sire, you have to listen-"

"Shut up."

"He was telling me off, I didn't know -"

"You will _remain silent_ or I will have your tongue cut out."

Merlin clenches his jaw. He's horribly afraid now, in a way he's never known before. His legs tremble and the fear in his belly plummets down into a pit.

The King slaps his buttocks hard, making him jump. Then there's a pressure and an intrusion; not flesh but something Merlin's never felt before. It takes him a moment to realise that it's the King's thumb, still clad in its leather glove. He's never done this with his glove on before. It's not at all comfortable; the leather is warm and supple but there are hard ridges along the seam lines and they hurt. Merlin can't resist squirming, and the King slaps him again with the hand not currently occupied with invading his arse. "Shut up," he orders, although Merlin hasn't made a sound.

The second hand is placed on him, and there's another gloved thumb sliding in beside the first. Now the burn is turning into actual pain. The King has a palm on each buttock and he's drawing his thumbs apart, prising Merlin open like a piece of fruit. Then the thumbs are gone; from the movement Merlin guesses the King's working at his own breeches, getting himself out and ready.

The King shoves inside him. It's better than the leather-clad thumbs, softer, but it's still difficult for him to work his way inside without the leisurely fingering and the salve they normally use. It seems to take forever before he's seated all the way in and begins to move. His thrusts are sharp and hard, shoving Merlin's hips up against the hard edge of the table every time. WIthout the use of his hands to anchor himself, Merlin is helpless to prevent himself being jostled, or even to thrust eagerly back against the King the way he likes, pleasing him and making him come faster.

It's only a short time before the King groans and withdraws; but before Merlin can move, his shoulders are pulled and he's sliding helplessly off the table, sprawling ungracefully at the King's feet. He's yanked to his knees and then there's a hand in his hair, tilting his head back so he has to look at the King's red and furious face, his gloved hand working at his cock, his eyes like chips of ice. Then the king groans, pulls Merlin closer, and comes all over his face, uttering a low series of grunts as he does so.

There's a pause. The smell of semen is overwhelming. The King is staring down at him, panting slightly; he runs his gloved fingers one last time over his cock, milking out the last few drops, and wipes them in Merlin's hair.

"You will not speak to my son again," says Uther. "He will be King one day. He must not fall prey to my... weakness." The last word contains such a weight of scorn and self-loathing and disgust that Merlin almost feels sorry for him.

"Get out," says the King. "Do not speak to me again until I give permission for you to do so."

Merlin gets to his feet awkwardly, pulling his breeches up and trying to get the torn strings together. He reaches a hand towards the towel which is on the table.

"No," says the King coldly. "There is no reason for you to clean yourself up. Everyone in the castle knows what you are. What you have proven yourself to be."

Merlin gives him one incredulous, furious, humiliated look before he collects himself and gets himself as quickly as possible out of the door.

***

Outside in the corridor, Merlin removes his scarf and swipes angrily at his face with it with sharp jabs; the King's come is already beginning to dry sticky on his face, and he has to rub hard. Throwing the stained cloth away would be satisfying, but he doesn't dare; any servant finding it will know who it belongs to and what it's stained with, and anyway he's not chucking out his own perfectly good clothes. He needs water. He's sore and he can feel bruises beginning to form on his hips and probably his forehead.

"Merlin!"

It is, of course, the last person he wants to see right now.

"Go away."

"You weren't in there very long. Are you all right? What did he say?"

"Don't come near me!" Merlin snaps. He doesn't want Arthur to see him. Or smell him.

Arthur, of course, comes closer.

"I'm not allowed to talk to you," says Merlin furiously, turning and striding down the corridor as fast as he dares with his ruined breeches held up by the same hand that's clutching his come-damp scarf.

"Well, I'm allowed to talk to you," says Arthur. "What did he say?"

"Not much," snaps Merlin. "Apart from to stay away from you." He increases his stride. Arthur easily keeps up with him.

"Does he still think that -"

Merlin doesn't reply, too furious to get the words out.

"It'll be all right," says Arthur. "I'll talk to him."

"No!" Merlin stops so abruptly that Arthur strides right past him and has to back up a few feet. He looks at Merlin and his face changes, as if he's suddenly seen the pain in Merlin's eyes. His nose is also twitching as if he's registering the evidence of what's just happened in the King's chambers and that's honestly the last straw; Merlin doesn't know what he'll do if the concern on Prince's face turns to disgust.

"I don't want you to talk to him," says Merlin, so angry that he can scarcely push the words out. It becomes easier as he goes on, though, although his voice is getting higher and louder and the hot tears are prickling in his eyes again. "I don't want you to say anything! You always do this, all of you, you interfere when things were perfectly all right before, and now you've ruined everything. I just want to be left alone!" The last word comes out ridiculously high, and Merlin takes to his heels and bolts down the corridor, not looking back.

***

 

The King doesn't send for him for a week.

Merlin spends the days in a haze of tension, his own muscles knotting into a rope to bind him. He stops eating, although Gaius, who clearly knows that something is going on, tries to tempt him with especially succulent dishes. Merlin knows that's what he's doing, and it makes him even tenser and angrier. He spends most of his time hunched over on his bed, reading his magic book, or doing odd chores. Cleaning the leech tank, savagely pounding herbs in the mortar, scrubbing the floor and washing laundry keeps him busy and he welcomes it. Working hard, working with his hands, is better than sleeping or reading or wanking; he lets his mind become as empty as a clean jar and then his thoughts and feelings don't bother him any more. He only leaves Gaius' rooms at night, when the castle is still and quiet like a tomb, and then he walks the corridors with his mind as smooth and blank as ice.

He's washed his scarf four times, although it was probably clean after the first time.

He'd never seen that side of the King before. Even at his angriest moments, even when he's been soured and embittered by the day, the people, the responsibilities, the King has never been cruel. But then, Merlin supposes, the King has never been angry at _him_ before.

Gaius wisely asks him nothing; Merlin assumes that he knows, after Merlin's desperate and dishevelled entrance into his room on the night of the feast, that something bad has happened. For all he knows, the entire castle is talking about it. For all he knows, he's sacked and the King just assumes he knows and hasn't bothered to tell him.

He doesn't see Arthur during this week, or the Lady Morgana. Gwen turns up the afternoon after the feast, her anxiety clear.

"The Lady Morgana sent me to enquire after you," she says.

Merlin, who is busy macerating herbs in oil, responds with a smile which doesn't reach his eyes.

"Thank the Lady Morgana for me. I'm fine."

Gwen comes closer and puts a hand on his arm. He stops working and looks at her; the soft curls brushing her cheek, her strong hand with its short nails. She smells of healthy things; green plants, lavender, bread and the slightest hint of sweat. She smells like a world Merlin remembers from a long time ago.

"She didn't mean to get you into trouble. She just - well, she cares about people. She saw you on your own there and she wanted you to enjoy the feast."

Merlin shrugs and smiles. It feels a little more genuine this time.

"I'm fine, really. Keeping myself busy. Lots to do."

Gwen takes the hint and leaves, although not before squeezing his hand briefly.

***

On the seventh day after the feast, Edsel appears, his face without its usual cheery grin. "Merlin. His Majesty wants you."

Merlin is labelling ointment jars. He's just about given up on the King now, and Edsel's words are an unwelcome intrusion, a blotch of angry red on the clean white linen of his mind. He follows as if in a dream.

He knows he should be feeling something, he should be excited or apologetic or terrified. Perhaps he's being given another chance. But he's daubed over the cracks in his heart and he can't let go too easily. Of course it's possible that the King has talked to Prince Arthur, realised how wrong he was and is going to apologise, although Merlin is inwardly snorting at how unlikely that is. It's far more likely that he's going to get the sack. He knows that there's little possibility the King will find another position for him, despite Gaius' assurances when he first agreed to this, so long ago. More likely, he'll have to go home.

He doesn't want to go home. At the thought of leaving, for the first time in a week, he feels a prickle of something around the edges, something less hard and pure than anger.

Leaving means going back to Ealdor, to his mum and her warmth and understanding; but also to her worry and concern for him, and to harsh winters and not enough food or firewood. To the place where everybody's known him since birth, where he won't be Merlin any more, but part of Hunith-and-Merlin. Going back to the place where there's nothing to talk about but each other, and not enough people to avoid rehashing the same suspicions and whispers and sneers.

Leaving means no Gwen and no Gaius. Leaving means no money to earn, no independence, no privacy and no magic book. Merlin clenches his jaw. He's forged himself a life here, and he can't let it go. He needs to persuade the King to give him another chance, somehow, or at least to let him stay. He doesn't care if the King fucks him, if the King hates him, if the King has him on his knees every night, as long as he can stay in Camelot. He's Merlin, and he's meant for something greater than sowing and growing and dying unknown.

Edsel doesn't follow him into the King's chambers; he just holds the door and closes it quietly when Merlin's inside. The King is standing by the window, a tall dark figure against the light. Merlin can't see his face properly.

"Come here," says the King.

Merlin approaches the bulky figure, stopping a few feet away. The light coming through the stained glass has a colour to it, almost a texture; he hasn't seen such a thing all week, keeping to Gaius' room and the shadowed night corridors. It's as if he's left a tiny cramped existence in a jar and has been spilled into the wider world.

"Do not be afraid," says the King, sounding remote, as if he's a long way away. "Tell me why you were in my son's chambers the night of the feast."

Merlin doesn't want to let himself hope, but something begins to loosen in his chest anyway.

"I was drinking, at the feast," he says, mouth dry. "I was drinking wine. I didn't know I shouldn't. Nobody ever told me, and - Prince Arthur told me. He was angry. He took me to his room and made me drink water. Then I was in the garderobe when you came in. My lord."

There is a long pause.

"I have spoken with my son," says Uther. He steps forward, out of the light and into Merlin's space.

Merlin doesn't realise that he's trembling slightly until the King puts a hand on his shoulder, curls it around to the back of his neck. The other hand comes up to stroke down his cheek. They're ungloved; Merlin can feel the callouses.

"Arthur tells the same tale," says the King. "I believe him. My son does not lie." He pauses, and both hands are now on Merlin's face. Fingers caress under his ears, thumbs skirt his cheekbones and stroke across his lips, as if Uther wants to shape him into something new.

Merlin's tension is loosening, lessening, falling away from him; his job is safe, and the King trusts him again. He reaches forward, with the artless eagerness he's perfected over months of feigned passion, to touch the King's broad chest; but his hands are gripped tightly.

"No," says the King. "This is no longer part of your duties."

Merlin gapes at him. _What_? "But my lord -"

"I have spoken with my son about you," continues Uther."He has brought to my attention certain... matters which I must attend to. From today, you are relieved of your duties as my body servant." There's regret and resignation in his tone.

Merlin feels the buildup of frustration again. _Oh, that interfering, arrogant prat, he's lost me my job forever now_. His heart is a stone, painful and heavy.

"Prince Arthur and I are in agreement that I should never have offered you this position in the first place. No -" as Merlin opens his mouth to speak again, "it is not because of any dissatisfaction with your work. I am very pleased with you. You have offered me exemplary and loyal service. It is because you have served so faithfully and well that I wished to explain this to you myself." He releases Merlin's wrists, putting a hand on his shoulder instead. It's a formal gesture, a stranger's gesture, keeping him at arm's length.

"I realise now that you do not understand the ways of the world in the way that one born into Camelot's service would. There are issues of protocol. Of politics. The art of dissembling, guile, seeming frank yet revealing nothing - these things can hardly be expected of you, fresh from the country as you were. This was not clear when you took up your duties; until that time you were not even one of my subjects. And yet if you are to remain in the royal court, these arts will be necessary. All Camelot's servants must be versed in such matters; for a personal servant to the King, this is even more vital."

"But-" Merlin blurts. "But I can learn! My lord, I am quick to learn and -" He stops before he can add _and quite good at disguising and dissembling, actually_.

The King looks at him gravely. "Nevertheless, I cannot keep you. And yet you are too tempting a morsel to leave idle. Outside the court you are prey to any number of charlatans and spies; and while I am sure you will be tempted by other offers here in Camelot, I want no nobles boasting that they own what the King once had, and using you against me." He pauses. "And you did save my son's life. This is why I am awarding you into his service. From today you are to be Prince Arthur's manservant. "

Merlin can't speak. He's not sure whether the swelling in his chest is frustration or relief.

"Your duties will not be the same as those you have experienced in your current position. My son does not require such personal service. You will serve the Prince his meals, look after his wardrobe, his armour and weapons, and any other matters he may request of you. I know that you have taken an interest in the sparring and training already; this will give you the chance to learn more of those arts, and the proper services required by a knight."

"Yes, my lord," falters Merlin.

"In my son's service you will learn the protocols necessary to serve the King. And also-" The King cups Merlin's chin, gazing into his face. "My son will be King one day. Yet he is young. His knights are loyal even to death, but he has had little success in finding a servant who offers him the same. He needs someone who can listen without passing on what he hears, who can speak to him without judgement, who can keep his secrets. He needs the devotion and service which you have shown to me. He will need it even more than I myself, for he is the King to come."

Merlin has forgotten how the King smells over the past week; his nostrils fill with metal, leather and salt. The King's steady gaze bores into him, under the reservoir of hope he hadn't known was there, and sends it running through his veins and bones and sinews, swelling and softening him.

"I will do my best, my lord."

"You have shown such extraordinary loyalty to me, that I know you will serve my son in the manner he needs." The King smiles. "I trust you. You may go to him now."

 

***

Merlin doesn't go straight to the Prince's chambers, despite the King's words. He makes it down several corridors and a flight of steps, reaching one of the arched doorways leading to the courtyard before he has to stop and lean against the wall, eyes closed, the rough stone catching at his scarf. The hugeness of his relief falls upon him like rain descending; the shock of cold slapping his senses awake, the water on his cheek, and then the vividness of colour against what had been grey and dull. Under the relief there's a tumult of emotion; frustration, anger, delight, hope, wound around each other like ribbons on a maypole, too close and too tight to untangle.

The sound of boots on the stone alerts him to someone coming. Somehow, he knows whose step it is already. He opens his eyes.

"Ah, Merlin. Has my father spoken to you about your new duties?"

Arthur reaches out to clap him on the shoulder, still veiled in that faint air of arrogance; but his smile is genuine and reaches all the way to his eyes. Merlin regards him critically, looking for the father in the son. He finds him only in shadows; the fold at the corner of Arthur's eyelid, the stubborn jaw, and the slight vulnerability of his mouth.

Arthur's grin is fading under his scrutiny, doubt entering his face. "Merlin? You _do_ know? You are willing to serve me?"

Merlin schools his features to remain blank, despite the emotions bubbling up inside him. Destiny is destiny, but that doesn't mean Arthur gets out of this scot-free. Besides, there's something he's not quite sure about, and he needs to know before he lets himself accept the shape of this new life.

"You told him!"

Arthur rears his head back, regarding Merlin quizzically. "Told who, and told what?"

"The King. Told him I didn't know what my job was, that I didn't know what he was offering me. You told him. Was it a big laugh?"

Arthur raises an eyebrow, Gaius-like.

"No. No, not much of a laugh at all, actually. Because I didn't tell him."

"You what?"

"Come on, Merlin. Do you really think I'd tell him? Make you look like an ignorant bumpkin, make him feel like a complete brute? I assume you didn't want him to know."

"No," says Merlin, low. "I didn't".

"Exactly. Hardly big laugh material. Not to mention that there are much better ways of getting a laugh, with you around. In fact, that's the only reason I asked for your service. It's got to be worth a few guffaws just watching you try to cope with my armour."

"You asked for me?"

"Of course I asked for you. It's my job to see you shape up into something vaguely suitable for service at the royal court. Although I must admit," says Arthur thoughtfully, "it was tempting to agree with my father that we'd be better off appointing you court jester."

Arthur appears to be having trouble controlling his mouth. Merlin glares.

"He never said that, the King."

"Oh, you're sure? Like I told you, Merlin, I know my father better than you do."

Time becomes loose and sags. They stand in the corridor eyeing one another.

"Anyway," says Arthur briskly. "If you're going to work for me, you'll have to actually _work_. None of that lolling about doing nothing."

"You think I was _lolling about doing nothing_, when I worked for your father?"

"I think" says Arthur deliberately, "that we are never going to talk about what you were doing when you worked for my father. In fact, I would much prefer if we never again mention that you were once in my father's service. It's totally irrelevant to your service with _me_. Do I make myself clear?"

Merlin lets the corners of his mouth twitch. "So... I won't be expected to share your room, then?"

"Certainly not."

"Good, because if you're anything like your father..."

"Merlin," Arthur warns.

"I was only going to say that, well... he snores."

"Merlin! My father does not snore!"

"Oh, he does."

Arthur shrugs. "Obviously you weren't actually awake and heard yourself snoring in your sleep. I should think that's far more likely."

Around them the castle is thrumming with life. Merlin hears the clang of a blacksmith's hammer, the protesting groan of the water pump, the shouts of children at play. A couple of maids pass them, their arms piled with folded cloth, chattering; they bob to Arthur good-naturedly, smiling. A pair of guards clank past them, going the other way. A man in the courtyard is singing under his breath, apparently as he tends to the horses which Merlin can hear whickering and snorting softly. Beyond, from the town spread out past the castle, there's a muted hum and babble; voices, activity, animals, all the bustle of a city and all the life there. Merlin feels he could reach out and grasp it, hold the entirety of life in the palm of his hand, rich and glowing. Perhaps he could.

This is Camelot. This is where he belongs.

"I'm going to the practice fields," says Arthur lightly. "Coming?"

Merlin grins at him. They stride out into the courtyard in step.

 

~~~FIN~~~


End file.
